


Under the Stars

by Aboutnothingness (Thesherlockholmes)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (no I won't stop saying that), Astronomy, Bonding, Early Queen (Band), Fluff, Gen, I read Brian's thesis to write this, Internalised Homophobia (it's brief but it's there), Lots of Cuddling, Star Gazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesherlockholmes/pseuds/Aboutnothingness
Summary: Brian has settled a little ways away, lying out on his back, hands pillowed beneath his head. Freddie joins him, never mind his freshly cleaned pants— they’re bonding— and lies right next to him.The sky is black, specked here and there with stars and the crescent moon. This is what Brian studies. This and much more, Freddie is sure. Things he doesn’t know exist, probably, and is too dim to comprehend. That’s alright, he’ll paint it into being and write the beauty of it into melodies.Freddie and Brian bond under the stars.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37





	Under the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Infinite thanks to my beta reader BisexualRoger for encouragement, plot consultation, reassurance, even _more_ reassurance, compliments, and those other unimportant bothers like grammar and spelling ;).  
>   
> Additional thanks to Nastally for timeline consultation that made me rewrite the entire first part of this. (I just realised I changed the month without checking the constellation's visibilities, but I'm _not_ changing it now!) But, it should, at least, be accurate to canonical timeline. I won't be pulling any Bohemian Rhapsody level proportions of artistic liberty in that area!  
>   
> Also, I read Brian's thesis to write this. The discussed astronomy is approximately an abbreviated version of the first twenty pages. It is very inconclusive information, because at this point Brian would not have embarked on any research trips to observatories and thus, his information would be limited in detail, as it had not actually been widely studied at this point in time. Most of his thesis discusses his work from 1973 onward. (Fascinating read though, I highly recommend.)  
>   
> And dear readers this is actually fluff— enjoy! (But don't get used to it 😂)  
> 

_January 1970_

The record he was playing had ended some minutes ago and was now spinning on the player. Around and around and–

Freddie looked up at the cracked ceiling, over at the acoustic guitars lent up against the walls covered in peeling wallpaper. Closed his eyes. Opened them. His sketchbook and notebook were abandoned an arm's reach away, discarded in frustration before he'd laid back on the floor, feeling utterly _lost_. After the stint at Heathrow Airport, the uncertainty of Wreckage, and the stall with Roger— well, that wasn't so terrible, kept him in with the band, and Roger was nice— there seemed little success to be had in his life. Roger was out now, along with everyone else who happened to crash in this worn down flat share. Strange for it to be so quiet. Any other time it would be welcomed, he could work on those sets of lyrics he's been toying with, but right now he can't make any of it work. This is what happens, he supposes, when chasing after a dream. He wouldn't let himself think it impossible, not even improbable that he'd become what he touted to everyone— a legend, darling!— because _somehow_ he would find a way. 

Things were, he considered slightly smugly, not working out for Smile. They were good, they had potential, but were also complete bores onstage. Kitted in some fashion, some stage presence— he smiles slightly, beckoning with a hand towards an imaginary audience, _and now, my lovelies, we'll perform for you..._ what he wouldn't give!— what Smile needed was _him_. They just... didn't see it yet. Come next January and he'll have wormed his way in. There, an achievable goal. It seems almost like a joke, just thinking of it, because right now Smile had that deal with a record company that Roger wouldn't shut up about, they had even recorded a single. Would they record another? And what ditty would they choose for that? He thinks of their set, not coming up with anything strong enough that would hold someone's ear enough to buy the thing. There was that song he'd heard Brian tinkering around with, something about not finding success. A strange thing to write just when Smile _is_ , he considers. 

Another reality looms, as he thinks of his own compositions, right now focused on fantastical dream worlds, with lyrics layered in metaphor and enveloped in obscurity. Hardly a match with Smile's tendency towards a down-to-earth rock style. His compositions would sound heavenly though, with their harmonies and with his voice, which Roger had recently informed him no longer sounded like a "bloody braying sheep". He smiled indulgently at that— his work had amounted to something, then. 

  
And it's on this slightly brighter note when Freddie hears a knock at the door. It's a quiet, soft sound which means it can only be a quiet, soft person announcing themselves— namely Brian. He's also the only one who ever comes around with any regularity. Freddie rouses himself up from the floor, from his thoughts and goes to answer the door, stretching his arms along the way. The door opens with a click and there's Brian, unnervingly tall as ever in the hall.

"Hey, Freddie." Brian says, a bit unsure and awkward. They've only met a couple of times, are hardly mates— so Freddie doesn't hold it against him, only makes it his mission to get rid of that tone once and for all, by the time Brian leaves. If he stays, that is.

"Brian, darling, come in!" Freddie steps aside for Brian and closes the door after him. "I wasn't, well I mean, nobody told me you were dropping by. I'll– I'll make us some tea."

"Yes, well, was just in the neighborhood." Freddie nods in response and makes his way to the kitchen, hoping that they actually have any tea in. 

"So, how's the research going? You're doing astrophysics, right?" He puts the kettle on, pulls out mugs, and does in fact find some tea in the cupboard, and drops it in the mugs— but not before checking that it is all tea and not some funny business again.

"Yes, that's right. The research is... going along."

"What's it about then?" 

"Er, zodiacal dust is what I'm studying."

Freddie hums, not sure if Brian would like being pressed to explain his research. He decides against it, at least for the moment. He'd hardly understand it and would probably just look foolish nodding along to any explanation Brian could offer. Best not. 

"How do you take your tea?"

"One sugar, no milk." 

He makes it, hopes it's alright— more often than not he fucks up something as simple as a cup of tea. It was worth risking it, though. It was hardly hospitable to ask Brian to make his own tea in Freddie's flat, as a guest.

"Here you are," Freddie hands Brian his mug, "Shall we go into the living room? There's a Hendrix album I love, we could listen to it..." He trails off, a bit nervous and self-conscious, worrying at his lip. He's forcing his interests on Brian. The man would have to sit there, listen to an album he might not like, and he wouldn't say anything, would he? He's far too polite. Freddie had picked up on that immediately upon meeting him. 

His worrying is suddenly interrupted.

"Hendrix! He's great. My favourite! I wish I could play as well as him." Brian has perked up suddenly and goes striding quickly into the living room, leaving Freddie rushing to catch up with him. "What album have you got? I've heard them all, of course. Have you?" 

"Yes, and gone to a few concerts. I've only got 'Bold as Love', trying in vain to save up for ‘Electric Ladyland’. I heard it a few months ago, around someplace," he waves a hand and sets the record on the player, lowers the needle, "Had a riff stuck in my head since then, can you imagine?" He throws himself down on the ratty old sofa (he'll have better than that someday, something antique and delicate, perhaps) besides Brian. Not too close, even though he wants to cuddle up to the man. Roger allows it, likes it after long days at the stall, but he doesn't know about Brian yet, best not to startle him too terribly. 

"True talent Hendrix has." Brian's tipped his head back, closed his eyes, letting himself be enveloped in the strains of the guitar as the album begins. Freddie just observes him, noting the long fingers of his left hand moving in chords as if on the neck of his homemade guitar. The man unconsciously working out the melodies he's hearing. Does he know the genius he possesses, Freddie wonders. 

Perhaps Roger has told Brian about him, because Brian's left arm has come up around his shoulders, tugs him closer. It leaves Freddie unable to do anything, but lay on his side, his head on Brian's thighs, the man's hand resting on his head.

This is the way they listen to the album: Freddie's head on Brian's thighs, curled up on his side, a long fingered hand in his hair. As it goes on, as they listen to Hendrix's voice perfectly compliment his guitar, Brian begins running his hand through Freddie's hair, combing, petting, soothing. Fleetingly, Freddie wonders how Brian accepts this, how this feels comfortable, how neither of them is at all embarrassed by the intimacy. It's nothing to do with sex, Freddie tries his best to avoid all thought of that, as it's always wrong and makes him feel alien for his imaginings. No, it's something entirely different, if not, perhaps, removed ever so slightly from ordinary social interaction. Roger was the first who hadn't shrugged him off, who had let him curl up on the couch on cold nights, who had let him lay his head on his shoulder whenever he fancied. And now Brian is letting him, inviting him even. These two special souls making him feel just a bit better, just a bit accepted. 

"I love that song, his voice is so perfect and the lyrics–” Brian's voice interrupts his pondering, and he looks up at Brian.

"Yes, really gorgeous, isn't it?" 

"I've learned it, but Tim won't let me play it in concerts. He doesn't like Hendrix as much as soul stuff."

"That's a shame, dear. You'll have to play it for me sometime. Be my own little Hendrix." Freddie grins at him, before catching himself, concealing his dreadful teeth again. Brian just shakes his head, an answering little smile on his own face.

"I can't sing very well though." 

"Don't be ridiculous, you sing beautifully in concert! You know, maybe try singing lead sometime, you shouldn't be relegated to backup vocals." 

"I disagree, Fred. Can't quite compare to Tim, I don't think." 

"No, you've an entirely different sound. They're not comparable." 

Brian seems to consider this and they go back to listening intently to Hendrix's rock serenades. He considers what it would sound like if he, Roger, and Brian were to harmonize. Freddie returns to the fantasy of them singing his lyrics, backed with his piano, Brian's unreplicatable guitar sound, Roger's precise drumming. It would be so, so perfect. As if to prove Freddie's point, Brian has begun absently humming along to the record, his own reserve slipping away. It's a soft and sweet sound. Perhaps not the tone meant for the song currently playing, but some song, something melancholy and slow. He closes his eyes, drifts in the music knowing the record is nearing its end. Hendrix’s guitar plays a space warp melody, beat even by the drums, and fades— into the air, into the universe.

Freddie sits up then, suddenly self-conscious, and gulps his tea to conceal it from Brian. The other man doesn't notice, though, and simply looks over at him with a smile.

"Does this place have access to the roof?"

Freddie is momentarily thrown off course by the question, but after a moment's consideration realises he hasn't a clue. "I don't know dear, why?"

"Well you were asking about my research earlier and I thought, if you're interested, that I could explain a bit of my study. Perhaps, you wouldn't–”

He cuts Brian off, before he can refute his own idea, "I'd love that dear, only, well, I don't know if we could get up to the roof."

"Does the stairwell go all the way up?" 

Freddie just gives him a look, as if to say 'if you think I've climbed it, you're insane', and Brian just shrugs and gets up, a determined set to his face. 

"Well, we'll find out then." Before Freddie can so much as protest, Brian makes his way out the door and heads for the stairwell. It’s the depth of winter, Freddie considers, and grabs two jackets that have been discarded by the door, and runs after Brian.

They make it up the stairwell three flights later and find that it does indeed open onto the roof.

“Wonderful! Better hold that door open with something Fred.” Brian says, stepping out onto the flat rooftop of the building. Freddie looks around for something to hold it open with and sees a discarded piece of something metal.

“Pass that metal to me, would you dear?” Freddie asks, pointing to the debris he spotted. Brian fetches it and Freddie secures the door open a few inches.

Brian has settled a little ways away, lying out on his back, hands pillowed beneath his head. Freddie joins him, never mind his freshly cleaned pants— _they’re bonding_ — and lies right next to him.

The sky is black, specked here and there with stars and the crescent moon. This is what Brian studies. This and much more, Freddie is sure. Things he doesn’t know exist, probably, and is too dim to comprehend. That’s alright, he’ll paint it into being and write the beauty of it into melodies.

“Alright,” Brian sighs and brings an arm down from behind his head, “Constellations first? All mythology. I seem to remember Rog telling me you were talking about that.”

“Did he now?”

“Well, he actually said ‘nattering’, but I was being diplomatic.”

“That does sound more like Roger, I have to admit.” Freddie grins over at Brian, and Brian chuckles, a small curl to his lips.

“Right, right.” He turns back to the vast darkness above them and raises his arm, guiding Freddie’s attention to the stars, “Now, see that bright star there to the right, in a triangle with those two stars- one below and one to the right?” 

Freddie searches the skies for a moment, his eyes falling upon what he hoped were the right glitterings, “Yes, I think so.”

“Alright, if you follow right along the path of those stars, you get something like a tail, with the three stars being the body,” Freddie hums, “That’s Draco. Dragon: constellations are named in Latin. Now, if you look underneath the tail there, there’s four stars in a box,”

Once again, Freddie searches as Brian indicated, finding the patterns he described.

“Alright, now a bit above that there’s two stars farther away. Imagine a line going from those to the square, those are sort of the arms, and then below there are three others, see the two on the left and one on the right? They make the legs and then see, you get Hercules.”

“He doesn’t look very big and strong, darling.”

Brian laughed softly, shaking his head, “Some drawings in my textbooks have really elaborated it. That’s what the Romans saw, I think.”

“Fanciful.”

“Very.”

They continue on like this for a while, sharing the myths and fantasies of the Romans, admiring the beauty of the night sky. Lyra, Cygnus, Serpens. Brian falls silent, after telling him a riveting, tragic story from Roman mythology, seeming to retreat into his own thoughts. A moments observation, a moments silence, before Freddie speaks— so enraptured in Brian’s knowledge to see an end of it.

“Tell me about what you’re researching.” He coaxes.

Brian laughs softly, "You sure about that? I could go on for hours."

It sounds like a warning and Freddie is quick to dismiss it, "And I've got hours free, so go on, dear." 

"Alright, then," he says, sitting up with an amused raised eyebrow, a bit of a grin, and a shake of his head. "Well, see there's— in space— these clouds of dust. It's not dust, really, just a mass of particles floating about somehow. We don't really know how they gather together— that's part of the research. It matters, because it would seem the clouds are in a conical sort of shape." Brian gestures to illustrate his point, his hands tracing a cone in the air between them.

"And the particles in it, or forming it, I suppose, they're rotating. That's known from observations, which is where zodiacal light comes in. See, light from the sun refracts through the dust. There's lots we can tell from that— which is part of what I'll be doing when I go off on the research trip."

Freddie looks over at him, slightly shocked, "You're going off on a research trip just as Smile is taking off! Are you mad?"

"Smile isn't exactly taking off, Freddie." Brian replies, with a sad smile.

"It will, dear. Don't you worry."

"I suppose, but who thought it was a good idea releasing our single in America? We don't have any audience there." Brian shakes his head, "Nevermind, sorry— where was I?"

"I think about the light and dust refraction."

"Right, so we don't really know how the dust rotates. _That's_ important because we could tell where the particles originated from based on the rotation. Speaking of originating, there's all sorts of apparent references to zodiacal light in old writings. It's fascinating. I've been trawling through all sorts of volumes looking for things. We can't see the light and dust very well these days because of light pollution, you know? So, older research is helpful, even if it's not correct. Sometimes I wonder what it was like, centuries ago when the ancients looked up at the skies. It must have been beautiful. Even more than this, could you imagine?"

"No," Freddie softly answers Brian's wondering tone. "No, I can't imagine the sight."

Brian sighs, "Astronomy books fascinated me when I was younger, looking at those pictures of planets and stars littering the universe. There's so much more than us." Brian laughs, rolls his eyes, "I'm getting fanciful— Roger would have my head in for that."

"Well, he is the one dropping dentistry after all, darling."

"He was never into it, can't really picture him fixing teeth all day. Anyways, the particles could have come from asteroids or comets. Some people think it could have broken off from Earth, I think, but there's too much disproving that theory. It's strange actually, I don't quite know if it's a coincidence or not, that asteroid and comets orbit in opposite directions."

"It certainly seems perfect."

"It is. So many things out there are like that. Perfectly symmetrical, all creating something gorgeous. Just a grand puzzle."

  
This is where he is entirely out of his depth, he can’t think of how to reply to that pondering, to that poetic thought. So, they fall again into silence under the stars. 

Sometime later, his back beginning to protest at lying on the hard roof and his limbs shivering from the cold, he glances over at Brian, only to see the man looking right back at him.

“I’m freezing.” Freddie says.

“So am I.” He can see Brian’s breath in the air.

“We should go in.” 

“Alright.” 

Neither man moves for a long time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let's leave the grovelling for comments and feedback in subtext, shall we? (That sentence is the subtext. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.)


End file.
